Halfway through, he leaned back, eyes narrowing in thought. “You’re saying… you’re my birth mother?” The words landed like a stone in her chest. She nodded, and the air between them seemed to thrum with something fragile and dangerous—hope, maybe, or the fear of breaking it.
Silence stretched, then he asked, “Why did you give me up?” It was the question she’d rehearsed for years, yet it still burned. She told him about the hospital bills, the tiny apartment, the way she’d thought love wasn’t enough without money. And how wrong she’d been.